


Caroline, A Gallery

by Blackcat413



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Age Magic, Character Study, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Cheating, I’m hesitant to even tag any ships bc this isn’t necessarily a romantic fic, Magic, and shes's getting suspicious, caroline doesn't age, how to tag that?, kind of a caroline character study kind of maybe. i'm trying, methinks this is an unfortunate marriage lmao, past caroline/rasmodius, pierre n abby r only mentioned, what... is going on here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:53:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24319885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackcat413/pseuds/Blackcat413
Summary: Caroline is…Well.She’s still young.
Relationships: Abigail & Caroline (Stardew Valley), Caroline/Pierre (Stardew Valley), Caroline/Wizard | M. Rasmodius
Kudos: 14





	Caroline, A Gallery

Caroline steeps her tea. 

She takes a deep breath, steadying a smile on the exhale.  _ Everything is good.  _ Yes. Good. The rain beats on the windows from all sides, washing her little sunroom out in blues and greys. It shadows the plants in a kaleidoscope of droplets, light twisting and changing every second. She’s almost content to watch it for a while more, but it’s loud, and she likes to be able to hear the rest of the house.

If her estimation is correct, there are only a few people in the house right now. There’s most likely George, praying by the altar, Pierre at the storefront, plus whoever is shopping right now — (Elliott? She can’t tell because) she can’t hear.  _ Abigail may or may not be in her room; her schedule is getting more unpredictable latel _ y, Caroline notes sourly.

The potential presence of others in the house besides her family is what prompts Caroline to get up and go to her room. It’s not as if she’s unused to others here; she welcomes them daily, know her husband has a business to run…but she likes to know.

She takes the saucer gingerly, flattening one palm underneath for support and wavering the other over the porcelain teacup. She feels a little silly using the fine china for her daily tea, of all things, but it feels special. Steam condenses under her slender fingers and she butts her and Pierre’s bedroom door open with a hip, pleased to find the rain’s ceaseless pattering much more muted on her bedroom window.

She settles in, places the tea next to the potted summer spangle at her vanity.  _ It was a gift,  _ she recalls fondly.  _ From the farmer.  _ Who has been getting rather close with her daughter lately, she’s noticed.

Caroline studies herself in the mirror. 

_ Has it really been twenty years? _

She frowns and takes the ties out of her hair. She really does look like Abigail here, with the way her hair curls around her shoulders. But it’s the wrong color.

She should honestly wear it down more often. It looks nice; Pierre would probably like it. Although he’s been distant lately. Antsy. Worried about the store, she’s sure. It concerns her, too. She should be concerned. It’s a stern reminder to herself, if anyone. Nobody else seems to know what she’s concerned with or not.

After all this time, she’s still trying to open herself up. Still trying to be proper. She plucks at a loose strand of hair. Propriety has been worn into her nature, but she could easily wear it back out again . If she wanted to, that is. If.

She stares herself down in the mirror, redoubles and refocuses her eyes on themselves—the fact that Caroline still wants to be everything she is is the only indication she’s aged at all. She looks twenty-three, still. Down to the day. She remembers the day, too.

On the other hand…

He hasn’t aged well, her poor husband. When he frowns, that wrinkle of his mouth digs itself into a deep line and stays. His eyebrows furrow, his forehead bunches up, his strong hands weaken more and more with each year. His hair thins. His blood refuses to clot when he accidentally cuts himself with the kitchen knife (he never used to be shaky, her Pierre). Old age bears down on him with looming pressure.

He’s only a few years her senior, and yet… 

She doesn’t believe it’s the accessories. She paints her nails green and wears a bit of jewelry, but it enhances the effect; it does  _ not  _ create it. Maybe she’s just healthier than him, all that working out with the girls while he sits inside during the day and goes to the bar at night. But she sits inside too, gathers fat at her thighs just as he does.  _ Her  _ face is still youthful.  _ Is it just good genes?  _

No. She refuses to believe she’s truly that lucky. 

With her hair down like this, Caroline looks exactly the same as she did twenty years ago. In fact, if she put herself and Abigail side by side, took that color out of her daughter’s hair, and had them both wear similar clothes, they’d pass as sisters. Easily. She’s sure of it. 

It makes her frown. Even the frown doesn’t reveal a single line or wrinkle.

That should be a good thing, shouldn’t it? A sign of her—and she wants to spit out the word as soon as she thinks it— _ desirability  _ as an older woman?

Something is off about this. Something is magical.

A face rises unbidden to her mind before she can banish it. She almost squashes him down again, following the years-old routine of suppressing that particular urge if it even so much as crosses her mind (It’s easy to lie about it, now—no need to make it difficult), but something stops her this time.

Slowly, she allows the visage to coalesce into Rasmodius. It  _ has  _ been a long time, hasn’t it? That’s right.

Would it hurt if she…?

Caroline gathers her hair back up and makes a resolution.


End file.
